


crossed lines, crossed for all times

by msermesth_on_wednesdays (msermesth)



Series: Flash Fics for New Comics [7]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), Collars, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Flash Fic, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sub Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth_on_wednesdays
Summary: Tony can't say no to Cap when he begs.





	crossed lines, crossed for all times

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Avengers #8. Fulfills my cap-im bingo square for 'collars'.
> 
> Based on Tony's confession from the issue.
> 
> I wrote this in less than a day, so alert me if you see any errors.

“Come in!” Tony yells at whoever just knocked on his bedroom door as he sits up on the bed. There hasn't been much time to settle in, the fact that they managed to get _any_ furniture to the North Pole this fast is kind of amazing, but it already feels a little like home up here at Avengers’ Mountain.

It doesn't hurt that it's Steve opening the door. He's changed from the uniform into a pair of sweats and a hoodie that's zipped all the way to his chin. It's a strange look on him, but it's not as strange as the fact that Steve actually walked into his room, so Tony doesn't comment.

“What can I do for you, Cap?” he asks instead. Steve stands there, quiet and still, and the room is filled with all the tension Tony had thought they were over by now. His eyes track over the room and somehow manage to see all of it without actually looking at Tony. It doesn't bode well.

 _Oh no_ , Tony thinks. He has too much excitement for the new team to spend the night working through their past disagreements.

Steve gulps. “It's nothing, I'll go.” He turns to open the door behind him, but Tony decides he rather fight than watch Steve leave so he crowds Steve and push the door shut again.

“Don't,” he says right as he realizes he's somehow pushed Steve back against the door and is technically holding him against his will. He backs up. “I mean, you can, if you want. But you don't have to.”

Steve finally looks up and Tony sees an entirely unexpected glint in his eye. “I'll stay. If you want.”

Tony might be imagining it, but it _feels_ like Steve has leaned forward enough that he's crossed the invisible line of Tony's personal space. He's so close Tony only has to whisper, “I want.”

It's the little smirk playing at the edges of Steve's wooden expression that really does it for Tony. He crosses the last few inches between them to kiss Steve.

Except Steve flinches away, and Tony's lips end up against his cheek.

Tony steps back immediately and tries to form a sincere apology because he clearly misread the situation. So what if they hooked up a week ago, too wound up post battle that they couldn't sleep without burning the energy? That had been _their_ _thing_ for years before. It could be their thing now. And Tony's okay with it.

Steve shakes his head and grabs Tony's wrist, effectively stopping him from walking away. Tony stills, confused, and watches for the clues he's clearly missing. With a tenderness Tony isn’t expecting, Steve brings his hand up to the zipper of his sweatshirt and slowly tugs it down.

Tony's brain short-circuits, because Steve's wearing nothing under that sweatshirt but a thick, brown, leather collar.

Steve bites his lip, watching Tony, probably looking for the same clues Tony needs.

Tony feels old, even in his brand new body, because it's been years since they've done something like this. Last week had been more of a quick, dirty, why-the-hell-are-you-still-wearing-underwear affair. This? This is more like how it was back when they all lived in the tower. This was a sign Steve trusts him again.

“I'm not sure this is the best idea,” Tony says, all the while betraying himself by tracing the rough edges of the leather with his fingers.

Steve's standing straight up, back flush with the door, and it looks as if he's holding back. With his eyes closed, he bares his neck, making it even easier for Tony to touch where the collar meets his skin. “Please,” he croaks.

They most definitely _shouldn't_. There are protocols and discussions and twenty other things that need to happen before Tony agrees to what Steve's asking for.

“Please, Tony. You know what I need.”

 _Do I, really?_ Tony asks himself.

Steve gets to his knees and looks straight up, imploring Tony to say yes. He always knew how to beg pretty.

Tony reaches out and runs his hand through Steve's soft hair. He missed this.

“Are you going to be good?” he asks, just like he always used to on these sorts of nights.

Steve actually smiles. “Yes, very good,” he answers and Tony's physically overwhelmed by how many memories it brings back.

With trembling fingers, Tony slowly uses his left hand to unzip his jeans and leaves the right one where it's settled on the back of Steve's head. He's been hard since about the moment he saw the collar and he pulls his cock out so that the tip lands close to Steve's pink, wet lips.

Steve's mouth hangs open, ready, but he doesn't bend forward until Tony pulls him closer by his hair.

“Fuck,” Tony mutters, too overwhelmed by the feeling of Steve's tongue on his dick that he can't maintain the illusion of control. Steve _fucking_ _moans_ at Tony's admission, and there's a hint of a smile in his eyes, so Tony doesn't worry too much about it.

If Tony had the willpower to draw things out, to guide Steve to go slow and easy instead of eager and messy, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. He leans against the door, too weak to stand up straight, and keeps his eyes on Steve as he bobs up and down, quick as he goes in, and then painfully slow as he comes up for air.

“Yes, just like that,” Tony reassures Steve, whose eyes stay on his in a constant question, a constant need to know he’s good enough.

(“I’m not sure I’m good enough for you,” Steve had confessed so long ago.

Tony hadn't found the words to tell him he was always knew it was the other way around.)

“You’re so good.” Tony keeps a firm grip in Steve’s hair, trying to remember how hard Steve liked him to pull it. “So, so good to me.” It’s hard not to fall back into old habits--like telling Steve how he had been born to swallow his dick--so Tony keeps his utterances simple and direct.

Steve’s nose hits the soft hair around his cock and he feels Steve swallow around him. He involuntarily bucks right into the back of Steve’s throat and tries to pull away as soon as he can, but Steve bends forward, keeping his lips where they are. 

The wrinkles around Steve’s eyes have changed into real concern, as if he thinks _he_ did something wrong. It was always so strange to see a man so full of conviction easily turned into a an insecure mess, and Tony’s mind is reeling with the weight of Steve’s regard for him. His hand drops from where it’s tangled in Steve’s hair and presses it to Steve’s cheek to feel the bulge of his own dick in Steve’s mouth.

With confidence that’s completely faked, Tony slowly moves his hand reassuringly around the back of Steve’s neck, with just the collar between him and Steve’s skin. “You like that? You like choking on my cock?” Steve moans around him. Tony continues to pretend he knows what he’s doing.  “Your mouth is perfect, so soft and wet stretched around my cock. You take it so well.” He pushes Steve forward from where he has leverage behind his neck until Steve is right back where he was. “Now I’m going to fuck you perfect, pretty mouth.”

Even if he knows this is exactly what Steve wants, Tony pauses for a second before rutting forward. It doesn’t take much effort to keep Steve’s head where it is--Steve’s certainly not resisting--but Tony tries to keep his hand steady and forceful, anyway. Everything, from the stress lines in Steve’s forehead to the tendons in his calves, relax, like he’s trying to turn into a vessel for Tony’s pleasure.

Tony really hopes Steve isn’t thinking of himself like that, right now. He hopes Steve knows Tony is doing this for the same reason he did it back then--because Steve wants it, and Tony would do anything Steve wants.

“So beautiful,” Tony mutters under his breath as he creeps closer and closer, until he presses Steve firm against him and comes down the back of his throat.

Steve never breaks eye contact. Even when he pulls off of Tony and rests his head on the jut of Tony’s hipbone.

Tony feels like a one-hundred foot tall man standing on the edge of a sheer cliff.

“I missed you,” Steve says, a small, sad smile on those wet and used lips.

It takes time for Tony to catch his breath, it takes longer before he’s ready to beg, “Please stay."

**Author's Note:**

> I write less flashier fics as [msermesth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth). When I'm not complaining about my life, I say things about comics on [twitter](https://twitter.com/msermesth). You can also read/reblog this fic on [tumblr](https://msermesth.tumblr.com/post/178264833254/crossed-lines-crossed-for-all-times-flash-fic).


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